An `SNL' to make you wish you lived in Iowa

Over the weekend, half a dozen or so NBC stations refused to show "Saturday Night Live" because Al Sharpton, a presidential candidate, was hosting.

They objected either because of the equal time rules or out of fear the 90-minute program would embarrass them by amounting to more political coverage than most TV stations offer in six months.

So they didn't air "SNL," and the show's "Weekend Update" mock newscast made fun of their cities for it. Des Moines was labeled "snoozeville," Sacramento "Sucramento" and, about Boston, the most populous conscientious objector, co-anchor Jimmy Fallon said, "Well, they just hate black people."

That was funny. Ameritrash heiress and, now, reality-TV star Paris Hilton coming on to mock her Internet sex tape was funny, until Fallon's winking performance pushed the dialogue past sly innuendo and into sophomoric overkill. Sharpton being confronted by Tracy Morgan as his former self, in pompadour and velour track suit, was funny.

And an ad for pleated, elastic-waistbanded "Mom Jeans" -- "give her something that says, `I'm not a woman anymore. I'm a mom'" -- was hilarious, but a repeat.

Most of the rest, and there was a lot, lot more, was an invitation to thumb twiddling, the only way to keep those digits from hitting the buttons on the remote.

Last month's Democratic presidential debate on MTV, featuring the candidates executing their campaign strategists' idea of pandering to America's youth, was infinitely more amusing.

Which gets to the real reason the stations shouldn't have shown this "SNL": It was, as usual, a colossal letdown. It's been like that for years now, of course, no matter what those critics always ready to proclaim an "SNL" comeback would have you believe. A sharpened newscast does not a comedy show make.

But there was reason to hope this particular show, with all the advance publicity brought by the Sharpton controversy and the guaranteed audience, including many who hadn't watched in years, would inspire the program to new heights.

Instead, it probably left a small-but-influential chunk of America churlish because it would now be so difficult to wake up in time for the Sunday morning talk shows. We're so sorry, Bob Schieffer.

For their late-night encounter with popular culture, political junkies got to see Sharpton imitate James Brown; portray Johnnie Cochran in a roller coaster with a reality-denying Michael Jackson; pitch his (fictional, we hope) Casa de Sushi restaurant; introduce musical guest Pink a couple of times; and portray a Wise Man en route to see Jesus get pulled over, an early instance of racial profiling.

A sketch about the other Democratic nominees watching Sharpton on "SNL" had little to offer beyond the idea of John Edwards brown-nosing for a vice-presidential nomination.

Most daring was a sketch that saw Sharpton and other African-Americans on the show as 1930s movie actors, forced to deliver lines straight out of the minstrel theater. He objects and leads a cast rebellion.

It's a potentially clever idea, but if you're going to invoke all the bad old stereotypes, you need something sharper than Sharpton apologizing for it midway through, then ending by being handed an African shield and spear for the "next sketch."

The host will make nobody forget Justin Timberlake, who was -- no joke -- loose, even inspired during his hosting stint earlier this year. Sharpton did a respectable Brown in his monologue, but the veteran camera lover seemed to tighten up after that. It was nice to see, however, that he didn't humble the "professionals" in the cast by learning his lines any better than they typically do. Sharpton, too, stole what zing sketches might have had by peering intently at the cue cards.

Either sensing Sharpton's weakness or simply helping NBC promote a new series, the show brought in ex-cast member Morgan, now the star of a "family" sitcom on the network. Morgan was his usual self, exhibiting way more verve than wit.

But the most screen time probably went to Fallon, who was in virtually every sketch, despite an increasing inability to melt into a character. Even on the fake newscast that propelled him to stardom, the show's poster boy can't seem to get over himself.

When the proceedings finally ground to a desultory halt, Sharpton delivered a show-end homily about "laughing together" helping America "to live together."

It's an interesting theory. It awaits a test. And the other candidates can breathe easier: They don't want time equal to that.